


Later and Forever

by ThereIsNoTragedyInThat



Series: The Space Between the First and Last Breath [2]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Boys In Love, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Pick who dies, Protective Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Protective Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Temporary Character Death, Whumptober
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:09:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26771200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThereIsNoTragedyInThat/pseuds/ThereIsNoTragedyInThat
Summary: They'd gotten themselves into a proper mess this time.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Series: The Space Between the First and Last Breath [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947598
Comments: 8
Kudos: 166
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Later and Forever

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Pick who dies

They’d gotten themselves into a proper mess this time.

Joe kept his head down as the men shouted orders, their thick soled military boots kicking up dust, their guns being shoved obnoxiously in their hostages faces. The chains that tied him to a couple dozen men and woman clanged noisily against each other and Joe dared only glance up when Nicky bumped gently into his side.

His beloved was stoic, his bright watchful eyes taking in their surroundings with practiced precision, piecing together their options. Joe had already drawn his own conclusions, namely that they were on their own for this one…not because the others wouldn’t find them, but because waiting to act would get the hostages killed.

There were five men stationed around the room, outdated rifles in their hands, Still faces watching them with a disturbing mix of weariness and uncertainty. Three of them were quiet, barely a threat, herding their captives deeper into the messy hut in a way that suggested it was a task they took no pleasure in.

The other two…they put Joe’s teeth on edge.

They were loud and boisterous, laughing and waving their guns about with little care. They seemed to feed off of each other’s energy and not for the first time he wished he knew their dialect better. This deep into rural Africa, far from the towns and cities, their accents were strong, and their language had grown and melded with their neighbors. Joe could barely make out a word in ten but that didn’t make their intent any harder to discern.

Cruelty glinted in their eyes, bolstered by the authority they’d been given in this small militia. Joe had seen it before, many times, and he knew just how dangerous it could be. The men shouted once again, and Joe let himself be tugged down by the chains connecting them all until they were all seated in the dirt, crowded together in fear or resignation.

Catching Nicky’s eye, he reached over to grip his hand, tried to communicate their need to act…to do something before the trigger-happy duo got too brave. The problem of course, was that there were three other men who may fire and hurt the civilians.

Nicky gave the smallest of nods, his bright blue eyes shifting up and narrowing as the men said something rapidly to each other before calling out to the other three. They shifted from foot to foot, averted their eyes before nodding hesitantly. Nicky frowned and Joe realized he was catching more of the conversation then he was.

Before he could try to ask…

The bigger one of the two, if only by a few inches, grinned widely and stomped over to the assembled hostages. Joe tensed, instinctively shifting onto his knees, keenly aware of all the bodies behind him, tied to him. He wasn’t sure what he would do…

Marching past him, there was a sudden rise of cries as he reached for one of the woman, fingers tangling roughly in her hair and dragging her close, jerking many of the hostages with her, tied together as they were. Both he and Nicky had leaned forward, unable to fight and defend as they watched him say something loudly, making the other hostages cry out again, in desperation this time. The woman in his grip was trying to shake her head, tears in her eyes and he was getting red in the face, even as his companion laughed loudly.

“Joe,” quiet, no one else had heard but there was nothing he was more attuned to then the man he loved. “Joe.”

Nicky had a plan.

Without hesitation, Joe lurched forward, face twisted into outrage, not a difficult effect to achieve. His attempt made the guard flinch and drop the sobbing woman, but Joe had made it purposefully pitiful, so he wouldn’t just open fire. Still, the butt of a rifle slammed into his head, knocking him sideways, and Joe blinked groggily up at the other gun happy fool.

Rough, calloused fingers tighten in his hair, yanking his head up further and the men were saying something, spitting at him, pointing at the hostages and Joe did not need to know their language to interpret their meaning.

He found himself looking at the assembled hostages, their terrified faces and Joe knew…they were telling him to choose, choose one to kill, as they had tried to make the woman do. For a long, detached second, pity stirred in his gut, for the two men trying to make an innocent commit such an atrocious act.

That cruelty was not thought of at random, it was one that was revisited again and again, and he wondered, who it was they had been forced to kill at one time.

It only lasted so long, when his eyes locked with Nicky’s, the man who meant more to him than a thousand lifetimes combined. There was the slightest twitch of his lip, the one telling him that this was the plan…this terrible, disgusting, inexcusable act was the fucking plan.

His incredulity must have shown because Nicky’s eyes narrowed and Joe felt something in his chest lurch, even as the hand in his hair tightened, those gruff voices becoming angrier. This wasn’t a choice, not really and Joe knew this, knew that he couldn’t turn this gun on any of the innocent people cowering behind Nicolò

Yet, the thought of choosing Nicky…well that was like willingly condemning himself to never seeing the sun again, like taking his soul, the one that no longer belonged to him and tearing it to pieces…an unspeakable pain. To never be looked upon by those too kind eyes again…it was not a burden Joe knew how to bear.

Nausea twisted his stomach, tickled the back of his throat as he stared at Nicolò, unblinking. He knew the pain that shone in his eyes, could feel the sting caused by unshed tears as he willed himself to do what was right. His Nicolò, his beloved, precious Nicolò, would never forgive him if he didn’t…

Nicolò’s lip twitched, eyes steady and unafraid, as close to I love you as they could come in this moment and Joe prayed, the words running through his mind with a desperation he hadn’t felt in years… _not like this_ , he thought, _do not take him yet, there is so much good for him to do_.

He did not avert his gaze when one of the men stepped forward, did not dare stumble in his prayers, the same ones he knew were being echoed in Nicolò’s faith and language. The gun was pressed to his beloved’s temple and it paused there, looking for a reaction but Joe would not give him one and neither would Nicolò.

The expression on his face was calm, loving, accepting.

Blood was everywhere.

The gun shot itself echoed in the small hut.

Nicolò slumped to the dirt floor, chains rattling as the blood seeped into the sand, his expression no more for this world. Joe did not look away, he did not stop praying, he did not listen to the cries around him or the laughing men as they finally left.

He waited.

Nicolò did not move.

The other three guards swam into view, their hands grabbing at Nicolò’s body, one unlatching the restraints that kept him tied to the rest of the captives and Joe thought…now, now he’ll open his eyes and kill these guards and free them all.

Nicky had a plan.

He did not move.

Joe did not register the apology in the other men’s eyes as they heaved up his dead weight and carried him from the hut. He was breathing harshly, he didn’t even noticed at first until his hands dug deep into the earth, his forehead touching the sand and his breath coming back into his face as he tried to inhale around the pain in his chest, the wide open tear that ached with sudden and unbearable loneliness.

This could not be end.

Yet.

Yet Nicky had not moved, had not twitched, had not opened his eyes.

Joe was drowning.

Then the gunshots started.

He was on his feet before he realized what he was doing, words falling from his lips, encouraging the terrified hostages to their feet, his heart thumping a terrified and exhilarated song in his chest. They moved hesitantly, wearily but they got to their feet just as a familiar, bloody figure ran into the hut.

Joe could not look away as he tossed the keys to one of the hostages and stood before him with a too smug grin and a heavy gun hanging off his shoulder. The pain was too fresh to be mended so easily, so he reached forward and dragged Nicky close, their foreheads pressed together as he willed himself to believe, to feel his Nicolò here in his arms, safe and sound. There wasn’t time for words as he was offered a weapon, one of those terrible rifles and another, flashier handgun. There was only their shared gaze, the silent promise of later and forever, and the sound of voices in front of and behind them.

Later and forever.


End file.
